#LM 1.3.7

[nortism]

I wanted to talk about @pilferingapples ‘s autistic Fantine headcanon that has been brought up in the Les Mis Letters server because it has rewired my brain and the more I think about it the more I can see my own experiences as an autistic woman reflected in Fantine’s story.

Fantine is introduced as being an outsider amongst the other grisettes. I think Hugo’s intention here was to paint her as innocent and virtuous in comparison to them but the way it reads to me is that she is someone who just can’t quite connect with her peers. She is described as being dreamy and “always having a queer look about her” in the words of Favourite.

The way Fantine is treated by the other girls rings very true to me as an autistic woman in my experience with friendship. She does consider the other grisettes her friends yet they speak cruelly about her behind her back (Favourite saying she puts on airs) and to her face (Dahlia mocking her for crying over a dead horse). Yet she offers no resistance, in fact she barely seems to acknowledge these things as offensive, because that’s just what being friends is.

The friendship between the four grisettes is shown to be truly shallow when after Tholomyes’ “prank”, they all go their separate ways, with Hugo saying it was like they’d never been friends in the first place. Realistically, one of the few examples of female friendship in the brick being portrayed as shallow and catty is most likely down to some lingering misogyny on Hugo’s part but it is something I find relatable as someone who has allowed myself to be treated poorly by others because I thought that’s how friendship was supposed to be. I’m sure a lot of other autistic people can relate to this as well.

Additionally, I think it’s interesting how the other grisettes criticisms of Fantine come down to her not acting in the expected way and fitting in with group. Favourite accuses her of putting on airs because she won’t swing like the other girls (therefore let the men look up her skirt). Dahlia laughs at her for getting emotional over the dead horse because her emotions are tainting the happy outing they’re all having. Fantine being empathetic towards animals isn’t an inherently autistic trait by itself but her inability to suppress her emotions or just go along with what everyone else is doing is something I think a lot of neurodivergent people can relate to.

Her relationship with Tholomyes is probably the biggest example of Fantine not understanding unspoken social rules. I’m no history expert and people have definitely written more in depth posts on the relationships between upper class men and working class women in France in this period but from what I’ve gathered it was understood that these relationships were purely transactional. The men got sex and attention and the women got gifts and nice days out to places they couldn’t afford by themselves. There’s more nuance than that I’m sure but that’s the gist.

We know the other three grisettes are aware of this aspect of the relationship. They are eager to receive a “surprise”, an expensive gift they could later sell on. Favourite flatters her lover to his face and says all the things he expects of her but confesses to the other girls that she doesn’t like him because he isn’t playing his role of spending money on her.

Fantine is seemingly oblivious to all of this. Maybe it’s her ostracisation from the other girls that is keeping her ignorant or maybe she knows how it is for them but genuinely believes she and Tholomyes are different. Either way it’s clear to me that her and Tholomyes have very different ideas about their relationship and that subtext has not been picked up by Fantine. For the record, this is completely on Tholomyes, even if he’s supposed to be playing the expected role, leaving his mistress without any financial aid for their child together is bad even by the standards of the time. However Fantine is definitely naïve.

Also if you read Fantine as autistic, her reasons for being in love with Tholomyes make a lot more sense. From Hugo’s description, it doesn’t seem like Tholomyes has many redeeming features: he’s balding and missing teeth, he’s a student in his thirties and he is in poor health. Yet he pays attention to Fantine, he flatters her and spends money to keep her in a nice apartment.

If we assume that Fantine is autistic and has spent her life being an outsider, this onslaught of affection would lead her to let her guard down and believe that this is what love should look like. Even without the autism, Fantine was an orphan, she didn’t have any examples of what a marriage was supposed to look like growing up so how could she possibly resist a man who seems to be doing and saying all the right things?

I think my conclusion is it doesn’t really matter if you want to read Fantine as being autistic or not. I think all the factors I’ve outlined in this post can be explained by her upbringing and her still being very young during her relationship with Tholomyes rather than having to be neurodivergence. However, I think looking at Fantine through an autistic lense has given me a new appreciation for the character and being an outsider in society, a big theme in Les Mis, is generally a relatable sentiment for neurodivergent people and I think it’s interesting to explore that in the context of Fantine.

[la-pheacienne]

reading Tholomyès monologues is so frustrating because I don't know if he's actually supposed to sound like a blabbering fool or if I am the fool and I don't understand what I'm reading

[cliozaur]

If someone in the Brick rants, it’s a bad sign. This is Hugo’s way of saying: Run for your life! (Even in the case of Grantaire.) Tholomyès is one of the worst. On top of everything, even his friends do not want to listen to him. We do not know about Fantine’s reaction to his harangue, but I’m genuinely afraid that his loquaciousness may be the only thing that attracted her to him (we know that he is old, ugly, and unkind).

But the rant itself is the true offender. Tholomyès doesn't merely vent; he launches into self-righteous pronouncements, dictating how others should live (while possessing zero moral high ground himself). His comments about women, both generally and specifically towards those present, are appalling, revealing a deep-seated disrespect and hypocrisy. The "accidental" embrace of Favourite speaks volumes about his infidelity and lack of genuine connection.

Oh, Fantine, you deserved so much better!

[lmchaptertitlebracket]

I.iii.7 Sagesse De Tholomyès

The Wisdom of Tholomyès: Wilbour, Wraxall, Hapgood, Walton, Denny, FMA, Rose

Tholomyès's Wisdom: Donougher

[lesmisletters-daily]

The Wisdom Of Tholomyès

Les Mis Letters reading club explores one chapter of Les Misérables every day. Join us on Discord, Substack - or share your thoughts right here on tumblr - today's tag is #lm 1.3.7

In the meantime, while some sang, the rest talked together tumultuously all at once; it was no longer anything but noise. Tholomyès intervened.

“Let us not talk at random nor too fast,” he exclaimed. “Let us reflect, if we wish to be brilliant. Too much improvisation empties the mind in a stupid way. Running beer gathers no froth. No haste, gentlemen. Let us mingle majesty with the feast. Let us eat with meditation; let us make haste slowly. Let us not hurry. Consider the springtime; if it makes haste, it is done for; that is to say, it gets frozen. Excess of zeal ruins peach-trees and apricot-trees. Excess of zeal kills the grace and the mirth of good dinners. No zeal, gentlemen! Grimod de la Reynière agrees with Talleyrand.”

A hollow sound of rebellion rumbled through the group.

“Leave us in peace, Tholomyès,” said Blachevelle.

“Down with the tyrant!” said Fameuil.

“Bombarda, Bombance, and Bambochel!” cried Listolier.

“Sunday exists,” resumed Fameuil.

“We are sober,” added Listolier.

“Tholomyès,” remarked Blachevelle, “contemplate my calmness [<i>mon calme</i>].”

“You are the Marquis of that,” retorted Tholomyès.

This mediocre play upon words produced the effect of a stone in a pool. The Marquis de Montcalm was at that time a celebrated royalist. All the frogs held their peace.

“Friends,” cried Tholomyès, with the accent of a man who had recovered his empire, “Come to yourselves. This pun which has fallen from the skies must not be received with too much stupor. Everything which falls in that way is not necessarily worthy of enthusiasm and respect. The pun is the dung of the mind which soars. The jest falls, no matter where; and the mind after producing a piece of stupidity plunges into the azure depths. A whitish speck flattened against the rock does not prevent the condor from soaring aloft. Far be it from me to insult the pun! I honor it in proportion to its merits; nothing more. All the most august, the most sublime, the most charming of humanity, and perhaps outside of humanity, have made puns. Jesus Christ made a pun on St. Peter, Moses on Isaac, Æschylus on Polynices, Cleopatra on Octavius. And observe that Cleopatra’s pun preceded the battle of Actium, and that had it not been for it, no one would have remembered the city of Toryne, a Greek name which signifies a ladle. That once conceded, I return to my exhortation. I repeat, brothers, I repeat, no zeal, no hubbub, no excess; even in witticisms, gayety, jollities, or plays on words. Listen to me. I have the prudence of Amphiaraüs and the baldness of Cæsar. There must be a limit, even to rebuses. <i>Est modus in rebus</i>.

“There must be a limit, even to dinners. You are fond of apple turnovers, ladies; do not indulge in them to excess. Even in the matter of turnovers, good sense and art are requisite. Gluttony chastises the glutton, <i>Gula punit Gulax</i>. Indigestion is charged by the good God with preaching morality to stomachs. And remember this: each one of our passions, even love, has a stomach which must not be filled too full. In all things the word <i>finis</i> must be written in good season; self-control must be exercised when the matter becomes urgent; the bolt must be drawn on appetite; one must set one’s own fantasy to the violin, and carry one’s self to the post. The sage is the man who knows how, at a given moment, to effect his own arrest. Have some confidence in me, for I have succeeded to some extent in my study of the law, according to the verdict of my examinations, for I know the difference between the question put and the question pending, for I have sustained a thesis in Latin upon the manner in which torture was administered at Rome at the epoch when Munatius Demens was quæstor of the Parricide; because I am going to be a doctor, apparently it does not follow that it is absolutely necessary that I should be an imbecile. I recommend you to moderation in your desires. It is true that my name is Félix Tholomyès; I speak well. Happy is he who, when the hour strikes, takes a heroic resolve, and abdicates like Sylla or Origenes.”

Favourite listened with profound attention.

“Félix,” said she, “what a pretty word! I love that name. It is Latin; it means prosper.”

Tholomyès went on:—

“Quirites, gentlemen, caballeros, my friends. Do you wish never to feel the prick, to do without the nuptial bed, and to brave love? Nothing more simple. Here is the receipt: lemonade, excessive exercise, hard labor; work yourself to death, drag blocks, sleep not, hold vigil, gorge yourself with nitrous beverages, and potions of nymphæas; drink emulsions of poppies and agnus castus; season this with a strict diet, starve yourself, and add thereto cold baths, girdles of herbs, the application of a plate of lead, lotions made with the subacetate of lead, and fomentations of oxycrat.”

“I prefer a woman,” said Listolier.

“Woman,” resumed Tholomyès; “distrust her. Woe to him who yields himself to the unstable heart of woman! Woman is perfidious and disingenuous. She detests the serpent from professional jealousy. The serpent is the shop over the way.”

“Tholomyès!” cried Blachevelle, “you are drunk!”

“Pardieu,” said Tholomyès.

“Then be gay,” resumed Blachevelle.

“I agree to that,” responded Tholomyès.

And, refilling his glass, he rose.

“Glory to wine! <i>Nunc te, Bacche, canam!</i> Pardon me ladies; that is Spanish. And the proof of it, señoras, is this: like people, like cask. The arrobe of Castille contains sixteen litres; the cantaro of Alicante, twelve; the almude of the Canaries, twenty-five; the cuartin of the Balearic Isles, twenty-six; the boot of Tzar Peter, thirty. Long live that Tzar who was great, and long live his boot, which was still greater! Ladies, take the advice of a friend; make a mistake in your neighbor if you see fit. The property of love is to err. A love affair is not made to crouch down and brutalize itself like an English serving-maid who has callouses on her knees from scrubbing. It is not made for that; it errs gayly, our gentle love. It has been said, error is human; I say, error is love. Ladies, I idolize you all. O Zéphine, O Joséphine, face more than irregular, you would be charming were you not all askew. You have the air of a pretty face upon which some one has sat down by mistake. As for Favourite, O nymphs and muses! one day when Blachevelle was crossing the gutter in the Rue Guérin-Boisseau, he espied a beautiful girl with white stockings well drawn up, which displayed her legs. This prologue pleased him, and Blachevelle fell in love. The one he loved was Favourite. O Favourite, thou hast Ionian lips. There was a Greek painter named Euphorion, who was surnamed the painter of the lips. That Greek alone would have been worthy to paint thy mouth. Listen! before thee, there was never a creature worthy of the name. Thou wert made to receive the apple like Venus, or to eat it like Eve; beauty begins with thee. I have just referred to Eve; it is thou who hast created her. Thou deservest the letters-patent of the beautiful woman. O Favourite, I cease to address you as ‘thou,’ because I pass from poetry to prose. You were speaking of my name a little while ago. That touched me; but let us, whoever we may be, distrust names. They may delude us. I am called Félix, and I am not happy. Words are liars. Let us not blindly accept the indications which they afford us. It would be a mistake to write to Liège for corks, and to Pau for gloves. Miss Dahlia, were I in your place, I would call myself Rosa. A flower should smell sweet, and woman should have wit. I say nothing of Fantine; she is a dreamer, a musing, thoughtful, pensive person; she is a phantom possessed of the form of a nymph and the modesty of a nun, who has strayed into the life of a grisette, but who takes refuge in illusions, and who sings and prays and gazes into the azure without very well knowing what she sees or what she is doing, and who, with her eyes fixed on heaven, wanders in a garden where there are more birds than are in existence. O Fantine, know this: I, Tholomyès, I am an illusion; but she does not even hear me, that blond maid of Chimeras! as for the rest, everything about her is freshness, suavity, youth, sweet morning light. O Fantine, maid worthy of being called Marguerite or Pearl, you are a woman from the beauteous Orient. Ladies, a second piece of advice: do not marry; marriage is a graft; it takes well or ill; avoid that risk. But bah! what am I saying? I am wasting my words. Girls are incurable on the subject of marriage, and all that we wise men can say will not prevent the waistcoat-makers and the shoe-stitchers from dreaming of husbands studded with diamonds.

Well, so be it; but, my beauties, remember this, you eat too much sugar. You have but one fault, O woman, and that is nibbling sugar. O nibbling sex, your pretty little white teeth adore sugar. Now, heed me well, sugar is a salt. All salts are withering. Sugar is the most desiccating of all salts; it sucks the liquids of the blood through the veins; hence the coagulation, and then the solidification of the blood; hence tubercles in the lungs, hence death. That is why diabetes borders on consumption. Then, do not crunch sugar, and you will live. I turn to the men: gentlemen, make conquest, rob each other of your well-beloved without remorse. Chassez across. In love there are no friends. Everywhere where there is a pretty woman hostility is open. No quarter, war to the death! a pretty woman is a <i>casus belli</i>; a pretty woman is flagrant misdemeanor. All the invasions of history have been determined by petticoats. Woman is man’s right. Romulus carried off the Sabines; William carried off the Saxon women; Cæsar carried off the Roman women. The man who is not loved soars like a vulture over the mistresses of other men; and for my own part, to all those unfortunate men who are widowers, I throw the sublime proclamation of Bonaparte to the army of Italy: “Soldiers, you are in need of everything; the enemy has it.”

Tholomyès paused.

“Take breath, Tholomyès,” said Blachevelle.

At the same moment Blachevelle, supported by Listolier and Fameuil, struck up to a plaintive air, one of those studio songs composed of the first words which come to hand, rhymed richly and not at all, as destitute of sense as the gesture of the tree and the sound of the wind, which have their birth in the vapor of pipes, and are dissipated and take their flight with them. This is the couplet by which the group replied to Tholomyès’ harangue:—

“The father turkey-cocks so grave

Some money to an agent gave,

That master good Clermont-Tonnerre

Might be made pope on Saint Johns’ day fair.

But this good Clermont could not be

Made pope, because no priest was he;

And then their agent, whose wrath burned,

With all their money back returned.”

This was not calculated to calm Tholomyès’ improvisation; he emptied his glass, filled, refilled it, and began again:—

“Down with wisdom! Forget all that I have said. Let us be neither prudes nor prudent men nor prudhommes. I propose a toast to mirth; be merry. Let us complete our course of law by folly and eating! Indigestion and the digest. Let Justinian be the male, and Feasting, the female! Joy in the depths! Live, O creation! The world is a great diamond. I am happy. The birds are astonishing. What a festival everywhere! The nightingale is a gratuitous Elleviou. Summer, I salute thee! O Luxembourg! O Georgics of the Rue Madame, and of the Allée de l’Observatoire! O pensive infantry soldiers! O all those charming nurses who, while they guard the children, amuse themselves! The pampas of America would please me if I had not the arcades of the Odéon. My soul flits away into the virgin forests and to the savannas. All is beautiful. The flies buzz in the sun. The sun has sneezed out the humming bird. Embrace me, Fantine!”

He made a mistake and embraced Favourite.

[secretmellowblog]

The wild thing about the Fantine/Tholomyes chapters is that —they’re sort of an allegory for the restoration of the Bourbon monarchy?

Fantine is the child of the French Revolution, born during the reign of the Directory. She doesn’t even have a legal name��� she’s an “anonymous” Jane Doe stand-in for all the common people who were born during the Revolution and relying on it to improve their future.

Though she had emerged from the most unfathomable depths of social shadow, she bore on her brow the sign of the anonymous and the unknown. She was born at M. sur M. Of what parents? Who can say? She had never known father or mother. She was called Fantine. Why Fantine? She had never borne any other name. At the epoch of her birth the Directory still existed. She had no family name; she had no family; no baptismal name; the Church no longer existed.

Tholomyes, meanwhile, is compared to the restored monarchy. He’s described as the group’s leader,

one felt the force of government in him; there was dictation in his joviality; his principal ornament was a pair of trousers of elephant-leg pattern of nankeen, with straps of braided copper wire; he carried a stout rattan worth two hundred francs in his hand, and, as he treated himself to everything

and is once described as speaking with

with the accent of a man who had recovered his empire….

I feel like Tholomyès’s descriptions might also echo contemporary parodies of Louis XVIII? He looks old/ugly but is dressed in clothes so lavish they make him appear ridiculous. In his incoherent speeches to the group, he encourages “moderation.” Being too moderate/not extreme enough was a common criticism of King Louis XVIII, who was too conservative to be supported by liberals/republicans but also wasn’t conservative enough to appease ultra-royalists.

Tholomyès is also a law student, and will later become a court Justice known for being “rigid”/severe— making him an active enforcer of the King’s laws.

Throughout the chapters the effects of the Bourbon restoration are even talked about explicitly in ways that parallel the description of the couples.

We get all these rosy descriptions of how the couples are In Love and everything is Wonderful and Nothing is Wrong and everyone is Happy and Everything is Fine… but there’s something wrong about it. Something feels off. The “love” feels hollow and fake, like a shallow facade. It feels like something bad is about to happen. Things are clearly not fine. And that feeling of wrongness only builds and becomes more obvious as the story continues.

Then, juxtaposed with the descriptions of the lovers, the story is interrupted by similarly rosy descriptions of the Restoration. The opening chapter (“the Year 1817”) lists all the things happening during the Restoration in the way Hugo later lists all the amusements the lovers entertain themselves with. Then we get a chapter interrupting the flow of the story to address the monarchy specifically. The chapter begins by saying Everything is fine. Everyone is happy. Everyone loves the monarchy. Nothing is wrong. Everything is perfect under the Bourbons. Parisians don’t want to rebel anymore, they just want to laze around amusing themselves like bored cats.

Everything was radiant. It was a time of undisputed peace and profound royalist security; it was the epoch when a special and private report of Chief of Police Anglès to the King, on the subject of the suburbs of Paris, terminated with these lines:—

“Taking all things into consideration, Sire, there is nothing to be feared from these people. They are as heedless and as indolent as cats. The populace is restless in the provinces; it is not in Paris. These are very pretty men, Sire. It would take all of two of them to make one of your grenadiers. There is nothing to be feared on the part of the populace of Paris the capital. It is remarkable that the stature of this population should have diminished in the last fifty years; and the populace of the suburbs is still more puny than at the time of the Revolution. It is not dangerous. In short, it is an amiable rabble.”

But Hugo can’t keep that pretense up for long and it becomes a tirade about how Things Are Not Fine, lots of people hate the Bourbons, and people will be rioting in the streets soon.

Prefects of the police do not deem it possible that a cat can transform itself into a lion; that does happen, however, and in that lies the miracle wrought by the populace of Paris. Moreover, the cat so despised by Count Anglès possessed the esteem of the republics of old. In their eyes it was liberty incarnate; and as though to serve as pendant to the Minerva Aptera of the Piræus, there stood on the public square in Corinth the colossal bronze figure of a cat. The ingenuous police of the Restoration beheld the populace of Paris in too “rose-colored” a light; it is not so much of “an amiable rabble” as it is thought. The Parisian is to the Frenchman what the Athenian was to the Greek: no one sleeps more soundly than he, no one is more frankly frivolous and lazy than he, no one can better assume the air of forgetfulness; let him not be trusted nevertheless; he is ready for any sort of cool deed; but when there is glory at the end of it, he is worthy of admiration in every sort of fury. Give him a pike, he will produce the 10th of August; give him a gun, you will have Austerlitz. He is Napoleon’s stay and Danton’s resource. Is it a question of country, he enlists; is it a question of liberty, he tears up the pavements. Beware! his hair filled with wrath, is epic; his blouse drapes itself like the folds of a chlamys. Take care! he will make of the first Rue Grenétat which comes to hand Caudine Forks. When the hour strikes, this man of the faubourgs will grow in stature; this little man will arise, and his gaze will be terrible, and his breath will become a tempest, and there will issue forth from that slender chest enough wind to disarrange the folds of the Alps. It is, thanks to the suburban man of Paris, that the Revolution, mixed with arms, conquers Europe. He sings; it is his delight. Proportion his song to his nature, and you will see! As long as he has for refrain nothing but la Carmagnole, he only overthrows Louis XVI.; make him sing the Marseillaise, and he will free the world.

It’s clear from the beginning that Tholomyes will betray and abandon Fantine, in the same way the return of the monarchy betrayed and abandoned the poor and vulnerable people who were born into the world of the Revolution.

[dolphin1812]

Hugo devoting a paragraph to puns is the most Hugo thing he does in this chapter.

[mariniacipher]

"[Tholomyès] made a mistake and embraced Favourite.”

... yikes for that tholomyès

i mean, he has been a bit of an embarassment this whole chapter, to be quite honest, rambling drunk and thinking himself clever. altho i guess he is a thirty-something college student trying to hold onto his youth even as he’s starting to bald and losing his teeth

[fremedon]

Brickclub catchup: I.3.6-I.3.9

I have fallen behind in posting because I just don’t want to write about Tholomyès. He is objectively the worst. He limbos under the very low bar for paternal responsibility set by Favourite’s asshole father and M. Gillenormand; he cheats on Fantine with Favourite and makes fun of her to her face; he orchestrates the public jilting of the grisettes with nothing more to show for the affair than one moderately-nice dinner; and his shitty drunken rambles manage to have less point or moral coherence than Grantaire’s.

And now he’s going to go home to Toulouse and become a magistrate, because fuck everything.

Fantine, though! This time through, I am reading with @pilferingapples‘ autistic headcanon in mind for Fantine, and these chapters are awfully convincing. She’s distant and doesn’t make eye contact, and the other grisettes think she’s stuck-up. She has no artifice and no ability to see through it in other people--she’s frankly a terrible judge of character, as we will continue to see--but she notices small things out of joint in the world, like the stagecoach’s stopping. The others mock her for her dreaminess, but she’s not unobservant--though she’s probably socially and sensorily overwhelmed with the noise and the crowd. And she empathizes with the dead horse, when everyone else sees it as an inconvenience at worst, and more likely a spectacle and an occasion for jokes.

[pilferingapples]

Retrobricking: LM 1.3.6, LM 1.3.7

Gotta Go Fast (and still these are too long:P) 

LM 1.3.6 

Yep, Favourite and Tholomyes are definitely having an affair. And  she's got her actor.  Blacheville is nothing, really, and almost certainly knows it, and doesn't really care.    This is a very standard sort of student /grisette partnership, really; they're mutually agreeing to pretend at being sincere but they both know the score.   Assuming Hugo is playing on the common trope-model , the actor's probably dead broke , and the only one Favourite actually likes on any sort of personal level.  The grisette/student story mode is several thesis papers of ramble on its own... Anyway, it does seem likely that there's some guilt over her relationship with Tholomyes in the way Favourite treats Fantine. 

LM 1.3.7

If there were any doubt left that Tholomyes is the very worst , he advocates... moderation.   I have to admit he's giving one piece of good advice in with all these barely-veiled breakups :  no one should get married, or rather, no one should get married to Tholomyes:P . 

Listolier's  "Sunday still exists" is really upsetting to me! It's obviously in conversation with Favourite's "fatigue has the day off on Sunday", it's in response to Tholomyes telling them to be careful with their zeal and joy.  But obviously Sunday is not just Sunday-- it's their careless youthful relationships.  And this --augh! 

The thing is, as I know I've said before, I do believe the students here are feeling that sort of  pre-nostalgic bittersweet Mood that comes at graduations and moving days. For them this is the end of a stage of life and a certain version of themselves--not a particularly great version, but still, they've had fun and now it's over. I think even Tholomyes is feeling a little wistful about this last hour (almost literally) of his "youth".    And that's understandable  and even sympathetic-- or it would be , if these guys weren't being absolute assholes  about everything in every moment.  That the relationships are ending is known to 7/8 of the people at this dinner.  This is why Favourite's been demanding a Surprise!  She and Dahlia and Zephine all know it's basically over, they're waiting for the grand gesture that makes it official and settles their accounts (because there are Ways this Goes, and they are supposed  to be given an expensive present as a farewell, it's their damn severance package and everyone at the table but Fantine  is well aware of this !) .   

But the guys are refusing to admit this ; they're holding onto Sunday, denying their mistresses a chance to deal with whatever they might have about the end of the arrangements ,  not even sharing the emotional space for a little friendly shared farewell.   They could not be clearer that they don't even think of the women they've been with for two years as having real feelings.  They think they're leaving behind their playthings , that's all; they may be a little sad to think someone else will play with them now.   It's so horrible and dehumanizing, and knowing that there IS a sort of expected way to wrap this up that would still let most of them skate away unattached  makes it all worse!   Tholomyes is the ultimate asshole here, of course--but his friends are really no better. 

[meta-squash]

Brick Club 1.3.7 “The Wisdom Of Tholomyes”

Oh my god there’s so much in this chapter, I’m so sorry for how long this is.

It’s probably just me, but this speech, or at least the beginning of it, reminds me of the way Shakespeare tends to write characters that are obnoxiously lecturing other characters (Polonius in particular comes to mind for some reason).

Tholomyes drunkenly stands up and tells everyone to slow down, to both eat and talk more slowly. But two chapters ago Hugo said they had finished eating. Go home, Tholomyes, you’re drunk. Tholomyes compares Talleyrand and Grimod de la Reyniere, one was a connoisseur of wine, the other of food, which is probably a “these people say savor your meals” statement.

Everyone else wants him to shut the hell up so they can continue their conversations and/or singing, which is funny. Also, I see so much Grantaire in this entire speech. Only, instead of a “down with your claws” remark going ignored, Tholomyes’ “You are it’s marquis” pun makes everyone quiet down, which he obviously takes as an invitation. 

Tholomyes first segment about puns absolutely sounds like Hugo being extremely self-aware. He has an unlikable character criticize and disparage the excess use of puns, fully knowing the amount of puns that will be used later on in this book. Hugo mentions irony in conjunction with Tholomyes in 1.3.2, here he’s really displaying it.

According to wikipedia, the Jesus/Peter pun is due to a Greek translation, where “Peter” is translated to “Petros” and then the same sentence also contains the word “petra” (rock), so that Jesus is saying “Thou art Rock, and upon this rock will I build my church.” The Polynices pun is from Aeschylus’ play Seven Against Thebes. At one point the play’s chorus describes Polynices and his brother Eteocles as being “true to each other’s names, both truly lamentable (eteokleitoi) and both full of strife (polyneikeis).” The Cleopatra pun is basically Cleopatra mocking Antony, who is upset that Caesar is late to battle, calling Caesar’s tardiness harmless. The “prudence of Amphiaraus” is also a pun, since Amphiaraus was a Greek king and seer who continuously did things knowing they’d go wrong or fail. The “baldness of Caesar” pun is a play on words because “Caesar” means “hairy child” and Caesar himself was balding.

I’ve just realized that the “Est modus in rebus” (Moderation in all things) line is what reminds me of Polonius. I can’t help but think of his “neither a borrower nor a lender be” lecture towards Laertes.

Tholomyes suddenly gets a little more ominous and foreshadowing as he talks about how love should not be overloaded, and there must be restraint and ends to things, even love. “The wise man is he who knows when and how to stop. Have some confidence in me.” I love this for a few reasons. First, Tholomyes is pretty drunk here, and he’s the one calling for moderation in all things. Ha! Second, it’s funny that he’s telling people to have confidence in him when they all seem to want him to be quiet. Third, he’s got an interesting way of interpreting “how to stop.”

Which is actually a line that’s interesting to me. Previously I kind of thought this cruel prank was a thing he’d done to women many times before, with other friends. Except this “the wise man is he who knows when and how to stop” line sounds like he’s talking about trying to extricate himself from this whole situation. Maybe he’s never knocked up a grisette before; certainly he’s probably never had one actually fall in love with him before, since usually everyone’s on the same page. He wants out of this relationship that’s more than he signed up for. It’s definitely time to stop, and this is apparently the only “how” he knows?

Sylla was the first republican to seize power via military coup; but at the end of his dictatorship, when he had imposed all the changes he wanted, he abdicated and retired. I don’t understand the Origenes line, but I think that’s due to my cluelessness when it comes to the way different areas of Christianity work.

He pronounces “friends” in a few different languages, which I can only imagine as being very slurred and with sloppy, ridiculous gestures. He waxes poetic (or something) about how to have no passion or love. I can’t tell if he’s talking about having an affair without falling into marriage/love, or feeling nothing at all. In the next lines he certainly seems annoyed with himself for getting mixed up with someone who has actual feelings for him.

Here’s more shades of Grantaire. Tholomyes has this whole rant on each country’s measurements; Grantaire has his rant on each country’s popular trade. But Grantaire’s is a political and social critique, while I think Tholomyes’ might be a dick joke?

Tholomyes isn’t even subtle about his affair with Favourite here. He straight up insults Zephine and calls her ugly, I think he insinuates that Dahlia is boring, and then he basically dismisses Fantine and calls her an airhead. And in the middle of this he sings Favourite’s praises. He specifically calls attention to her mouth. Also, he refers to her with “tu” instead of “vous,” the first time he uses the familiar with her, at least with company around.

God, he talks about Fantine like she’s not even there. What an asshole. I hate him so much. He talks about Fantine like she’s not there, and she doesn’t do or say anything to contradict that. Again, she gets no dialogue in this chapter. Where is Fantine at, mentally, in all of this? Because Hugo does this a lot: he’ll describe someone or something in idealized tones, and then a chapter or two later a character will have dialogue describing that same person/thing, but in much more down-to-earth ways. Fantine and Cosette are both described in conjunction with birds. Only, Cosette is a bird, and Fantine is staring off into space, imagining birds. Honestly if we’re still going about this with the headcanon that she’s on the spectrum (which I am, I love it), this sounds like an overstimulation shut down. Hell, my adhd brain does the same thing when I’m in places that are really loud and busy and there’s not really a point of focus. If everyone around them is yelling and laughing and singing as much as they are, then it’s probably horrific in this pub.

Tholomyes is so blatant here about his intentions around Fantine. “I am an illusion--but she doesn’t not even hear me...” I think this piece of dialogue is twofold. Tholomyes is again hinting at his plan to leave, to end everything; his relationship with Fantine is so fake as to be an illusion. But it’s also here to describe Fantine, who is dreaming up a relationship that doesn’t exist. I kind of get the feeling that Tholomyes hasn’t been very nice to Fantine for a while, hasn’t been trying to keep up the pretense of this relationship, and yet Fantine is so wrapped up in her own personal illusion that they’re in love that she is unable to notice or see his assholery.

Yet another shade of Grantaire here. This monologue describing Fantine made me think of R’s “Chowder is ugly” monologue. Tholomyes describes Fantine as the “daughter of chimeras” while Chowder is a chimera. They both get classical allusions: Fantine is a nymph, while Chowder is a gargoyle instead of Galatea. Chowder gets hair like lead, while Fantine is a jewel. Both men are drunkenly harassing women and being real obnoxious about it. The difference is a) Chowder is probably used to it as waitress and Grantaire doesn’t seem to mean genuine harm and b) Tholomyes is “in a relationship” with Fantine, and that’s no way to treat someone, and it definitely sounds like he’s mocking her in front of her face to other people.

The “too much sugar” rant goes with the marriage one, I think. According to Tholomyes, women are too obsessed with the fairytale-type nice things, spend too much time imagining sweetness like a wedding. I’m not sure how popular trash romances were at the time (I know Hugo mentions that Mme. Thenardier reads them) but I wonder if he’s referencing reading those as well.

“Make conquests. Rob each other without remorse of your beloved. Crisscross and double cross. In love, there are no friends. Wherever there’s a pretty woman, there’s open warfare....” You know what, I think Tholomyes actually really wants Fantine to figure it out. At first I thought he was being an annoying asshole and acting like this because he knows she doesn’t get it so he doesn’t care. But I actually think he wants to see her put it together. He’s still talking in metaphors and references, but I think he wants Fantine to realize that he’s cheating, that he doesn’t love her back and this is just a fling. He wants her to be on the same level as everyone else. I don’t know if he wants it so that there’s a better chance of them getting away without consequences, or if he’s a cruel bastard (he is) who wants to watch her world collapse. He’s been saying it louder and louder and more and more obviously as the speech goes on. But as he says just a paragraph before, Fantine just doesn’t get it. Either she truly doesn’t notice, or she refuses to see. He describes her as so distant here, I think she truly doesn’t notice or get it.

This is also a bunch of references to women who were historically raped. He basically seems to be saying that when you refuse to settle down, you get the “benefit” of being the enemy and taking other people’s partners. Gross. Hugo really knows how to write a slimy, unlikable asshole. And even his friends seem to think he’s going to far, because they tell him to stop talking, and when it seems like he’s going to start up again, they sing some annoying rhyming song. Why they thought that would shut him up, I don’t know.

He really does spend this whole speech dropping hints. “Let’s finish our course of study with folly and food” sounds like he’s talking about messing around with the women, but also definitely sounds like a hidden “ooh, you’re about to get tricked and feel so stupid.”

He spouts off a bunch more springtime allusions (comparing nightingales to the opera singer Jean Elleviou, Jardin du Luxembourg, pastorals about various upper-class streets, etc.) The pampas line is interesting. Pampas are big open fertile lowlands in South America, as compared to the covered arcades of the Odeon theatre. Again I think this is a twofold joke: on the one hand, literally the Pampas is a place Tholomyes could go and become a landowner and be a rich independent colonizer, but he feels he does perfectly fine shmoozing at the the theatre in Paris. Less literally, this could also be a sex joke, similar to Grantaire’s “if only I wanted to,” only worse. Basically he’s saying “look at all these girls I could go fuck in other places, but I get enough tail in the theatres of Paris.” Gross.

He then kisses Favourite “by mistake.” I think at this point he knows Fantine is never going to get it. But Favourite is clearly in on the joke. He doesn’t even care anymore, he’ll cheat on Fantine in front of all of them because they all kind of know except Fantine--who isn’t going to figure it out, obviously.

[la-pheacienne]

this is the 1817 version of "STFU u little bitch"

[deep-peach]

[pureanonofficial]

LES MIS LETTERS IN ADAPTATION - The Wisdom of Tholomyès, LM 1.3.7 (Les Miserables 1925)

In the meantime, while some sang, the rest talked together tumultuously all at once; it was no longer anything but noise. Tholomyès intervened.

“Let us not talk at random nor too fast,” he exclaimed. “Let us reflect, if we wish to be brilliant. Too much improvisation empties the mind in a stupid way. Running beer gathers no froth. No haste, gentlemen. Let us mingle majesty with the feast. Let us eat with meditation; let us make haste slowly. Let us not hurry. Consider the springtime; if it makes haste, it is done for; that is to say, it gets frozen. Excess of zeal ruins peach-trees and apricot-trees. Excess of zeal kills the grace and the mirth of good dinners. No zeal, gentlemen! Grimod de la Reynière agrees with Talleyrand.”

[persefoneshalott]

LES MIS CENSORSHIP ADVENTURES 7

lm 1.3.2, lm 1.3.4, 1.3.7

texts from old translation

"Tholomyes loved Fantine, called the blonde, because of her beautiful locks, which were like rays of sun."

VS "Tholomyes had Fantine, called the Blonde because of her beautiful locks of the color of the sun"

The verb 'querer' is used on the first text which can also be translated as 'wanted' but this is still making Tholomyes look better imo.

There's a weird typo where it says about the professor and the chambermaid that "The result had been Fantine", instead of Favourite and says the mother never spoke to 'her' but then later on they do keep the passage about how we don't know who Fantine's parents are and no one has met them. So there's no point, it must've been a typo.

lm.1.3.4:

The spanish song Tholomyes changes is changed?¿ so there's no legs and no Badajoz and there's consonant rhyme. There's a footnote about how it would be unforgivable to change the original lyrics from Hugo in the newer translation, funnily enough.

"Al balcón de los ojos se asoma el alma: para ver lo que enseñas amor me llama."

"To the balcony of the eyes the soul peeks out: to see what you're showing love calls me"

lm 1.3.7

The song about Clermont-Tonnerre is cut. I did not know this until I looked it up for this, but this is a VERY topical reference, because he was a bishop who got exiled and came back (you guessed it!) in 1817, but the diocese had been removed in 1801 and so he wasn't reinstated until 1820. Anyway this criticizes the Church and mentions the pope so it had to go.

[pilferingapples]

Les Mis 365 1.3.6 , 1.3.7, 1.3.8

1.3.6- A Chapter in Which Adoration Happens in Some Direction! Everyone towards themselves, or towards each other, or possibly both?? 

I don't know if the ambiguity in that title is intended or not, but if it is it's a good match for what's going on in the scene. People flatter each other, and they flatter themselves, and they use each other as a form of flattery, and it's all very cheery and ...okay, the thing is it's tempting to say it's fake , but I think that's not quite right? 7/8 people here know they're all playing a certain game, and if they're playing a somewhat bitter version, well, they still know they're playing. Heck, Favourite's claims to Blacheville would be KINDA TERRIFYING if she weren't obviously being ridiculous about it.  

But of course there IS a falseness to it, because the students are changing the rules of the game and the grisettes don't know it. Until now, they've all been having fun together; if it's not love it's still fun. As others have pointed out-- Favourite's next love is an actor. There's enjoyment in the performance.

But the students are also having fun at the grisettes' expense, and have been the entire day. We get to know that, and we get to know just how much Fantine isn't playing, and that changes the tone of the scene a lot. 

1.3.7- The Wisdom of Tholomyes

GET MANGLED, THOLOMYES. 

I *do* think Tholomyes' harangue is significantly different than either in that he's both laying the groundwork for a particular loathsome thing he's about to do--really, look how much he's setting up his imminent leaving here-- AND lecturing people who are socially disadvantaged relative to him, people he is about to be instrumental in hurting, on how to live their lives. However dubious and even rude Grantaire and even the Senator may get in their rambles, they're shown talking to people who are social equals, people they have no direct power over (and in Grantaire's case at least, people he even feels real affection for). Tholomyes is privilege lecturing the oppressed, including one person who he is about to ruin completely, and that alone makes him a major contender for Actual Worst in the book. (there are many contenders. But dang, he sure is at the front of the race.)

Because of that, and through that, there's a Thing here, which I may draw some ire for saying, and I will understand if I do, but-- I get the sense that Tholomyes actually *is* sort of sad in points here, as he very clearly makes his goodbyes, but sad for himself. That is, I think he really is sort of wistful about having to go home and leave his carefree student days behind and become a responsible citizen, as he talks about it. It's an effect that really impresses me, because it's an understandable and even familiar feeling-- the party's over, it's a little melancholy when one phase of life ends even if the next thing is going to be great for you-- and yet still it manages to be MASSIVELY UNSYMPATHETIC, because he's ONLY concerned about himself, about his little party ending ( time . The people he's going to affect with this, Fantine, his *actual daughter*,-- they don't figure into it. They're interchangeable with any part of the scene. He kisses Favourite instead of Fantine the way he might grab the wrong napkin by mistake. So, y'know. He's got feelings! Very real and sincere ones! About Felix Tholomyes. And he really seems to see them as a justification for everything he's about to pull ("makes a heroic stand, and abdicates", geez). Which makes what otherwise might be quite sympathetic emotions and thoughts EVEN MORE DISGUSTING. 

Also, "Woman is Man's right" alone would make me want to sockbrick him. Seriously, Tholomyes. Have a Tragic Adventure, already.   

1.3.8 - The Death of the a Horse

NOT THAT IT'S AN OMEN OR ANYTHING.

I mean, okay, horses die a LOT in this novel (and get horribly treated, too) and I'm still not sure what the overlinking Dead Horse Metaphor is (something about the energy of progress?).  But in the immediate chapter it seems an obvious analogue to the callous consumption of Tholomyes and the other students, and the way they treat-- well, probably everyone who's not them personally. The lack of sympathy all around is awful, of course; Fantine's the only one who's sad for the horse (and her sympathy for an ill-used creature is another point that provokes the other women to treat her as an outsider, which...geez, someday I will go into the dynamics with those four but they are all SUPER UPSETTING) (still I care about the grisettes here a lot) .

And Fantine's the only one who's interested in her lover, and not just what he might be bringing her. "Don't be long, we're waiting." Oh honey. Oh no. I am so sorry about everything ever for you. 

** I could and if provoked POSSIBLY WILL go into how I think Tholomyes' lecture here is in a lot of ways set up to be counterpointed by the World's Worst Law Students later. But that's later!